


The Live In One

by DonovanS



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Developing Relationship, Domestic, M/M, Mental Instability, Pre Reichenbach, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonovanS/pseuds/DonovanS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[RATED FOR LATER CHAPTERS]</p><p>Moriarty was a man of wealth and means, he controlled and manipulated his way across the globe like a force of nature. Pure, inhuman darkness seeping into every crack and crevice in human society. </p><p>It was only natural that when he’d decided to get ‘live in protection,’ as he’d phrased it, no one volunteered. The men is his ranks weren’t keen on dying in their sleep, waking up with their own entrails stretched across a kitchen island while Moriarty poked and prodded their innards. It’d happened before, it was why everyone popped amphetamines before a long job now.</p><p>No thank you, sir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Live In One

People didn’t pity James Moriarty. 

Mostly because, for all outward appearances, you had no need to.

Moriarty was a man of wealth and means, he controlled and manipulated his way across the globe like a force of nature. Pure, inhuman darkness seeping into every crack and crevice in human society. 

It was only natural that when he’d decided to get ‘live in protection,’ as he’d phrased it, no one volunteered. The men is his ranks weren’t keen on dying in their sleep, waking up with their own entrails stretched across a kitchen island while Moriarty poked and prodded their innards. It’d happened before, it was why everyone popped amphetamines before a long job now.

No thank you, sir. 

But, Jim got what Jim wanted and his word was law within the organization. Which is why he found himself walking a straight line in front of a group of his closest employees, a Hunter and his dogs.

“Moran.” His voice was playful but it had an obvious command behind it as he came to a halt in front of his head sniper.

Sebastian stood up a little straighter. 

“Sir.” 

“Report to my home tonight, around 7. My driver will be waiting outside at the proper time.” 

With that he left, a turn of his heels and he was strutting his way out the warehouse door, humming out a tune that sounded a great deal like ‘Copacabana.’ His exit out the double doors meant the men were free to stare at Colonel Moran in a mixture of silent horror and genuine sympathy. 

-

Several hours later Moran found himself waiting on the stoop outside his own flat, Duffle bag at his side, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had his well-worn army jacket to protect him for the evening chill but the shivers down his spine had nothing to do with the weather.

Moriarty’s car pulled up silently and he hopped in without question. An hour of so later they arrived at Jim’s flat, Sebastian doubted it was that far but he was certain the driver had been instructed to purposely mislead him.

“Sebastian! Wonderful! You packed for the night I see.”

Moran blinked several times and raised an eyebrow at his employer. 

Jim Moriarty was standing in the middle of his large, circular living room, every surface and most of the floor around him from the fireplace mantle to the long, curved sofa, was littered with books, notepads, newspapers, pens and markers. His laptop was sitting on a cluttered coffee table in front of him, displaying Holmes and Watson’s websites in two separate tabs, the fan apparently keeping a half drunk cuppa warm while he worked.

The man himself was out of his usual expensive and well-cut suit and was instead standing before the Colonel in a pair of pale, green sweats and an equally green ‘Trinity College Dublin’ tee. He had a pen slid behind his ear and he looked positively manic in comparison to his usual demeanor. 

“I…you.” Moran cleared his throat awkwardly and tilted his head. “You went to Trinity?” 

Jim blinked, confused, before looking down at his shirt. He laughed.

“Ha! You know, I’d actually forgotten I was wearing this.” He cleared a spot on the sofa and motioned for Moran to sit, he did so without question.

”You’re aware of why you’re here I’m sure.” 

Sebastian shrugged. “You said body guard but I’m guessin’ that’s not entirely it if you’re hirin’ _me._ ”

Jim’s face spread into a Cheshire Cat grin and he clasped his hands together. Sebastian was his favorite for a reason. 

“Correct. I would like to…experience, what it’s like, having a flatmate, I mean.” Jim walked barefoot through the clutter as he spoke, turning suddenly on his heels to face Moran once more. “And you, Colonel, seemed the best candidate.” 

Sebastian caught the manic gleam in his boss’ eyes. It spoke volumes about how thin the ice he was treading really was, but Moriarty had been good to him and turning him down was a far greater risk. Hell, the man treated him better than most. As close to the ‘friend treatment’ as Moriarty got. He’d even granted Moran the courtesy of having his birthday off. No one else got that. Fuck, he’d sent him a _gift,_ a gorgeous, custom rifle, made to look like a cane. Perfect for work and pleasure alike. 

“Flatmate, huh?” Sebastian looked around at the disaster area he was seated in, weighing his options. “I guess I could go with that. If ya don’t mind one condition.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, his smile dropped.

“I’d kinda prefer you don’t ‘experiment’ on me like you did with Summers that time. Kinda like bein’ in one piece.” 

Moriarty’s grin returned, his toes curled and his hips swayed slightly as he fought to hold back his obvious excitement. 

“No promises, Colonel.”


End file.
